Wrecked: South Side Boys-Book 3

by Winter, Alexis

  Shit. She got me.

  “I’ll tell you, but you need to promise me one thing.”

  She makes an X over her heart. “I promise.”

  “You can never tell Kalum or Jaxson.”

  Her eyes go wide and her jaw drops slightly.

  “Oh my God . . . did you go on Pinterest?”

  Is it better or worse that I didn’t have to admit it?

  “Seriously, Scarlett. You can’t tell either of them. I’ll never fucking hear the end of it.”

  Her laughter is loud and from her belly, and I don’t think in all the time I’ve known her, she’s laughed, or smiled, like this. It makes me feel good knowing I had something to do with it.

  “I’m glad my internet browsing could bring you so much joy.”

  “Please tell me you downloaded the app.”

  I don’t say anything, but apparently, my face gives it away, because before I know it, she’s making a dash for my phone on the kitchen island.

  I take two big steps to try to beat her to it, but I’m too late. She has my phone and is trying to unlock it while keeping it away from me.

  Not wanting her to see the evidence, I pick her up around her waist, trying to get the phone back, but she’s squirming too much. I set her down, but when I do, we’re facing each other, closer than we’ve ever been before.

  We’re mere inches from each other—our laughter calming down to heavy breaths. She smells a bit like vanilla, and the red in her cheeks from laughter makes her even more beautiful than she already is. Her body is touching mine, and I swear I feel little shocks in every cell of my body.

  What would it be like to kiss her? Would she let me? What would it feel like to hold on to her hips as our tongues touch for the first time?

  I begin to lean in, hoping she doesn’t turn me down—

  Ding-dong.

  The doorbell breaks our trance and we quickly step away from each other. I have no clue who it could be, but I’m going to murder them. Even if they’re related to us.

  “Can I help you?” I ask the man standing on my front steps. He’s tall and lanky, and I guess good-looking if you go for the rough-around-the-edges type, and his clothes are a bit disheveled, but not ragged. But as I take him in, there’s an air of cockiness surrounding him that he has no right having. I know that kind of vibe. It’s the one every kid in my neighborhood had growing up.

  “I’m looking for Scarlett.”

  “Who are—”

  “Ryan? What are you doing here?” Scarlett asks from behind me.

  “Hey, babe. Long time no see.”

  And that’s why I immediately didn’t like this guy.

  This is Grant’s father.

  11

  Scarlett

  I hate the person I become when Ryan decides to grace us with his presence. But I can never turn it off.

  On one hand, I want to tell him to get the fuck out—that if he doesn’t want to always be here with us, or at least be with his son, then we don’t want him here. That we are better off without him.

  On the other hand, he’s Grant’s father and we have a history together. I’ve tried to forget about it—to turn off whatever past feelings I had for Ryan. But I can’t. Believe me, I’ve tried.

  And that’s the side that always wins.

  After the shock of seeing Ryan at Maverick’s door wore off, I tried to take him downstairs to my suite, but Maverick insisted we stay upstairs. Not wanting to cause a scene, I didn’t fight it.

  I wish I had.

  Like always, I now need to remind Grant who Ryan is. He might be a smart three-year-old, but when someone only comes by about every six months, then of course he isn’t going to remember him. Like he does with most new faces, he’s shy at first. But instead of clinging to me, he perches himself next to Maverick, trying to bury his face behind his arm.

  “Come here, little man. Come see your dad.”

  This only makes Grant climb onto Maverick’s lap. My poor guy. He has to be so confused.

  “He’s good here,” Maverick says—an angry tone lacing through his words as he puts his arm around my son. “So, Ryan, what brings you by? Just around the neighborhood?”

  “Do I have to have a reason to see my girl and our son?”

  “Considering I’ve known Scarlett for more than a year and I’ve never met you, yes, you do.”

  “Scar, who is this dude? And why are you living here?”

  “This dude owns this house and will kick your ass out of it in five seconds if you don’t watch how you talk to her,” Maverick says before I can even say anything.

  “Stop it! Both of you.”

  I don’t know who I’m more upset at right now: Ryan for his random pop-in, or Maverick for not letting me get in a word.

  “Maverick, I can speak for myself. And Ryan, I moved in with Maverick two months ago so I could go back to nursing school. Which I told you in an email, which I’m assuming you read considering you’re here, so don’t act like an ass.”

  That shuts both of them up.

  “Maverick, can I talk to you in the kitchen, please? Grant, baby, why don’t you show your dad your new truck?”

  Grant gets off the couch and goes to find his new toy, and I make sure he’s settled with Ryan before I grab Maverick by the arm and drag him to the kitchen.

  “What was that?” I ask, pacing around because I can’t stand still right now.

  “What was what? That guy’s a douche, Scarlett.”

  “That guy is Grant’s father!”

  “So I’ve been told. I can’t believe you fell for a guy like that!”

  I stop in my tracks. How dare he.

  “Excuse me? What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “It means I didn’t realize you had such shitty taste in men.”

  I’ve never wanted to slap someone so hard in my life. But before I can, I remember Grant is in the next room and can probably hear everything being said.

  “You don’t need to like him. You don’t even need to be his friend. I tried to go downstairs, but you insisted we stay up here. I’m asking you to please be civil with him, for Grant’s sake. He’s confused enough and your attitude is not helping.”

  Maverick is fuming right now, and I really don’t know why. Isn’t he the one who told me I could have guests over? And I warned him that Ryan might pop in. It’s not like this should be a total surprise.

  “I don’t have to fucking put up with this,” he says, grabbing his keys. “The downstairs is your space. I don’t want him in mine.”

  “Fine.”

  “Fine.”

  I storm out of the kitchen and so does Maverick. I can’t even look at him right now—I’m so angry.

  “Hey, Grant, let’s go show Daddy where we live. You can bring your truck.”

  I take the two of them downstairs and hear the garage door open and close. Good. Maybe Maverick can go cool down away from here.

  “This is nice, babe. I didn’t realize you had this kind of cash.”

  “You know I don’t,” I say, getting Grant situated with his trucks. “This was fully-furnished. Maverick was a godsend letting me stay here.”

  “Are you seeing him?” Ryan asks as he takes a walk around the suite, picking up a few pieces of décor.

  “No. He’s a friend. His brother is engaged to Tori. Again, I told you all of this in the email.”

  “How is your sister doing? Does she miss me?”

  “You don’t want me to answer that question.”

  He laughs before sitting next to me. His smell is familiar and hasn’t changed. I loved his cologne when we first met. I still do.

  “I’ve missed you, babe. So much,” he says, lacing his fingers through mine.

  “You say that every time you come around. And yet, every time, you always leave without an explanation or telling me where you are.”

  I don’t pull my hand away. I hate that he has this effect on me, but he does. His touch is familiar. Comforting like a worn T-shirt
. And it’s the only one I’ve known in three years.

  “I know. I’ve fucked up a lot, babe. But I’m here now. I’m back in town. And I want to be with you. And Grant. For good this time.”

  I’ve heard this before. Two other times, to be exact. Each time I think it’s going to be for real, and each time he ends up disappointing me.

  “What’s different this time, Ryan? You’ve said those words before, and they’ve ended up being lies.”

  He takes his other hand and gently brushes the side of my face. I hate that he knows me so well and how that one simple gesture can turn my insides to mush.

  “Seeing you upstairs with that guy, and how Grant didn’t even know who I was, it did something to me, Scarlett. I hated it.”

  “So you’re going to stick around now because you’re jealous?”

  “No, I didn’t mean it like that,” he says, adjusting himself so he’s looking directly at me. “It just made me realize how much of an idiot I’ve been. Babe, let’s give this another try. Let’s be a real family.”

  I want to believe him. All I’ve ever wanted is for Ryan to be in Grant’s life. I don’t want my boy to grow up without his father.

  “Ryan, I don’t know. You just showed up here unannounced . . . I’ve just started my nursing program. I have a lot going on right now.”

  “I’m not going anywhere. I’ll prove it to you this time. I’m not leaving.”

  He leans in for a kiss and I don’t stop him. I’ve never been able to tell him no.

  And after we put Grant to bed, I continue to not be able to tell him no.

  12

  Maverick

  I’ve had many regrets in my life. The stealing cars portion of my late teens and early 20s is up there. Developing computer code that made it possible for me to break into pretty much any car is definitely on the list. Don’t get me wrong, it’s a badass piece of technology, but it’s caused me more harm than good. Especially when it put me on the FBI’s radar.

  But somehow, stealing cars and being on government watch lists are still ranking below what I did last night.

  “Good morning, handsome,” Amy says as she rolls over and drags a manicured nail up and down my chest.

  Yeah. I fucked Amy.

  I’m not proud of it.

  I didn’t seek it out. Well, fuck . . . yeah, I did. But I had my reasons.

  It’s Scarlett’s fault. No, it’s that douchebag Ryan’s fault.

  I fucking hate that guy.

  I was so livid when I left last night that I went down to a bar a few miles from my house. I’ve been there a few times, but I just needed to get out, and the bar seemed like as good a place as any.

  It started with a beer and a shot of Jameson. It continued with another round. And then another.

  Next thing you know, I’m texting Amy to meet me. She didn’t even try to play hard to get. She was there within an hour in a dress that left nothing to the imagination.

  I said I was too drunk to drive home, so she took me back to her place. I was drunk, but I could have called for a ride. The truth is, I didn’t want to be under the same roof as Scarlett and Ryan. The price I had to pay for that was a sloppy blowjob and mediocre sex.

  I know I can’t ignore them forever, but I’m hoping that the asshole will be gone by the time I get home, and that it will be a very long time before he shows his face again. Maybe Grant’s high school graduation?

  As soon as I opened the door, I got a bad feeling about the guy. I couldn’t place it, but it felt like I knew him from somewhere.

  Then she defended him. I’ve had more interaction with Grant in two months than Ryan has had in his whole life. That’s not a father. That’s not even a man.

  So yes, I might regret fucking Amy last night. And letting her suck me off. But I couldn’t go home last night knowing that they were together. I just couldn’t do it.

  The poison I’ve chosen is Amy trying to cuddle with me.

  “What time is it?” I ask.

  “Time for us to go another round,” she tries to say seductively, but to me it sounds like nails against a chalkboard. How have I never noticed how nasal her voice is—with some vocal fry thrown in for good measure?

  “I can’t. I have to get to the garage,” I lie, but it sounds as good as anything. I begin to roll away from her, but she grabs my arm, trying to pull me back to bed.

  “It’s Saturday, Mav. You don’t work on Saturdays. Are you trying to run away from me?”

  Yes. Yes, I am.

  “Of course not. But we have a special project I’m working on, so I need to go in.”

  I make it out of her bed and get dressed in record time despite the fact that my head is playing host to a heavy metal band. How much did I drink last night? I slip into the bathroom, and as I finish doing my business, I remember that my truck is at the bar.

  Fuck. Goddamn whiskey.

  I have three options: I can call for an Uber, though they usually aren’t close out here in the suburbs. I can call Kalum, but it will take him at least 30 minutes to get here from the city, and that’s about 29 minutes longer than I want to be in Amy’s house. Or I can suck it up and call Scarlett, who will come get me because she’s the nicest person in the world, even though she’s pissed as hell at me.

  Even if she tells me to fuck off, I will walk. Asking Amy is not option number four.

  Me: Good morning. I’m sorry to ask this of you, but I need a huge favor.

  It’s a solid minute before she replies, and I’m pretty sure I didn’t take a breath.

  Scarlett: What do you need? Where are you? Did you not come home last night?

  Well, at least she’s realized I’m not there. That makes the next part only slightly less uncomfortable to say.

  Me: No. I . . . well . . . I’m at Amy’s. I went out for a drink and had a few too many. She brought me back to her place. Can you come get me?

  I see the bubbles pop up, then disappear, then pop up again. This might be more tortuous than waking up with the feeling of sharp nails on my stomach.

  Scarlett: Fine. But you owe me. I’m talking donuts and coffee.

  Me: Whatever you want. I’ll send you the address. You’re a lifesaver.

  Scarlett: Yeah, yeah. Tell the airhead bye and be outside in 10.

  If I could’ve escaped Amy’s without saying goodbye, I would have. But as luck would have it, after I spend about five minutes sitting in the bathroom—trying to run out the clock before Scarlett’s arrival—Amy’s on the other side of the door waiting for me, wearing nothing but a silk robe that isn’t tied.

  “I didn’t think you’d ever come out of there,” she says as she tries to circle her arms around my waist. I grab her hands, stopping her before she can latch on.

  “I need to go, Amy. Thanks for letting me crash.”

  “You’re just going to leave?”

  “Yeah, I told you, I need to go to the garage.” I start to walk toward her door, but somehow she slips by me, blocking my path.

  “When can we see each other again?”

  I sigh, realizing how big of a mistake this really was. “I don’t know, Amy. But my ride is here, and I need to go.”

  I’ve never been so thankful to see Scarlett’s car. However, by the look on Amy’s face, she is none too pleased.

  “Who is that? She’s not even pretty. Are you fucking her too, Maverick?”

  “It’s none of your business. Goodbye, Amy. Don’t wait for my phone call.”

  I open the door and make a beeline for Scarlett’s car.

  “Go!” I yell before even shutting my door.

  “So that’s Amy, huh? Does she always stand at her door naked?”

  I sigh and pinch the bridge of my nose, because I’d rather Scarlett give me the silent treatment like I’d expected. “Yeah, that’s her.”

  “Her boobs are fake.”

  “Yeah . . . yeah, they are.”

  That’s all she says as we drive to the bar, where my truck is exactly where I lef
t it.

  “Where’s Grant?” I ask, just realizing she came alone.

  “Ryan is watching him.”

  “Is that a good idea?” When I texted her, I assumed he would have been long gone.

  “He’s his father, Maverick. I think he can handle watching Grant for a half-hour.”

  “You’re his mother. You know what’s best.”

  She slams on the brake in front of my truck, almost shooting me through the passenger-side window. “I do. We’re here. Now get the hell out of my car and go get me breakfast.”

  She speeds away as I shut the door. God, how many times can I piss her off in 24 hours?

  13

  Scarlett

  I was wrong. Ryan could not handle a half-hour. But I’ll never admit that to Maverick.

  When I got back after picking up Maverick from Amy’s, I came home to the kitchen counter—and Grant’s face—covered in chocolate. And Ryan was sound asleep on the couch.

  That was a week ago. Since then, he’s almost dropped Grant on his head while playing, left a sharp knife next to him on the kitchen counter, and about 10 minutes ago tried to feed my highly-allergic-to-peanuts son a Reese’s Cup.

  “I didn’t know, Scarlett! Shit, cut me some slack,” he says as I make sure Grant is okay. He didn’t take a bite, thank God, but it scared me to death when I saw him holding it.

  “Yes, you did, Ryan. I told you last week; you just didn’t listen.”

  “I’m sorry,” he says, wrapping his arms around my waist. “I must have forgotten. You know I’d never do anything to hurt him.”

  I know that. And I get it. Ryan has been here seven days. It’s the longest he’s stayed around, and I’m almost at the point where I think this might have a chance of sticking. It’s not easy jumping into being a father. I could condemn him for missing out on the first three years of Grant’s life, but instead I’m trying to focus on the positive: that he’s here now.

  Since Ryan’s return, I haven’t seen Maverick. He’s gone in the morning when I leave for work, and not back yet when I come home from school.